The Wilson's Property, Part Uno

Well, that's another slap of some reality. Jennster text messaged me yesterday to tell me of Heath Ledger's heartbreaking death. And it felt like another punch to my gut. And simultaneously, a reminder for me to SNAP OUT OF IT!

Where's Loretta Castorini when I need her??? (Cher in Moonstuck, people...MOONSTRUCK!)

I truly have nothing to complain about.

I'm extremely fortunate to have a wonderful partner who I'd only like to choke occasionally. We have two fricking awesome dogs, even though they're ASSHOLES in the rain...And it's raining right now...non-stop. You'd think that I were dragging them to their deaths when I have to take them out to go potty.

I am fortunate to still have my incredible folks in my life. (My Dad happens to be doing quite well. Thank you to those who keep inquiring about him. He's finished with his treatments and goes back in for another test in February to make sure that everything looks good.)

And I'm fortunate to have longtime, fantastic friends and family to keep me grounded and humble.

And besides all of that? I'm healthy. Relatively speaking...

I'd like to share some news with you that I'm dealing with right now. I received a call from my doctor while I was in Ohio, just a few days before Christmas. And it's been another slap of reality for me to put the little things in perspective.

I don't talk about it very much, at least not on the blog because...because...I dunno. I want you to come here and laugh, or feel inspired in some way, or feel like you have really small private parts compared to me, or feel like most of the time, you can come here and feel like it's a bit of a sanctuary away from a tiresome world. An absurd sanctuary, yes. But, a moment to get-away, nonetheless.

I was diagnosed with something when I was 29 years old.

Which seems rather impossible, seeing how I'm only 26. See? Delusion also sets in from this condition. And actually, if I were 26 and still looked like I do now, I'd look like shit. So, forget it. I'm not 26. I'm 60. And I look DAMN good for my age...If I do say so myself. And I do, 'cause I just did.

KEVIN!! BACK TO THE FUCKING STORY!!

Sorry.

Well, I was diagnosed with this 9 years ago. I was told by many doctors that I almost died.

The symptoms began rather slowly. The first tattle-tale signs began when I was with my family on a ski vacation to Veil. We were sitting in a restaurant eating dinner when one of my legs entirely cramped up sending me reeling in my chair straight into the wall behind me.

My oldest brother immediately leapt over and started grabbing my leg yelling, "WHAT? WHAT??"

And I yelled back, "IF YOU RIP THESE STOCKINGS, YOU'RE PAYING FOR THEM, MISTER!! AND HANDS OFF THE SKIRT, BISH!!"

My brothers! Always trying to get so frisky!

ew.

We laughed about how silly it must have looked later and didn't think too much of it. I just thought that my legs had most likely gone through quite a workout on the slopes and the muscles were a bit pissed off.

Well, some weeks went by and things worsened. I was mountain biking with a friend in the mountains of Western Pennsylvania when I had to pull off the side of the trail. My legs began cramping up, I lost my gait and I began to stumble and vomit. We had been drinking the night before, so I thought that I may have been hung-over, but I hadn't drank so much that I should've been puking. I had a feeling that something was wrong, but I blamed it on the booze.

Always blame it on the booze.

Actually, don't. It wasn't the booze.

Some more weeks went by and now the muscle cramping was becoming worse. At one point, I collapsed at a mailbox at the Post office and couldn't move. I laid there asking people for help, but they literally stepped over me. It was Cleveland, urban Cleveland, so they probably thought that I was a drug-addict, derelict, ho. They were half-right...Or a third right.

The derelict part.

OKAY! THE HO PART TOO!!!

shheeezz. Such a tough crowd...

Then, things started snowballing.

The moons in my finger nails began to disappear. I could barely make them out through the chipped mocha-choca-latteiieie polish, but, they were disappearing.

Normally, my hands and feet will perspire occasionally...okay, OKAY, A LOT...THEY PERSPIRE A LOT. And now, they weren't. They weren't AT ALL. Not even when I wanted to...touch myself...you know, on my danger zone.

I'm usually a very hot person (ahem, I know, this should go without saying...I'm modest though, yo). And it was Summer now and when I would normally just sleep in underwear...something lacy and frilly, and heels, I was sleeping in fleece with a down comforter...and socks, in Summer.

And then, the cramps worsened to the point that if I moved the wrong way in the morning, I would fall out of bed, or the harness, or off the curb, crippled and paralyzed with cramps. I would just lie there praying until they'd go away. And would ask that evenings' trick to shut the door on the way out. But, they had usually left before that.

I was also facing A LOT of depression. But, I was attributing that to having recently ended my engagement to my longtime girlfriend and fiancee and coming out of the closet into a world that I didn't wish to be in.

I just hadn't compiled the wardrobe to compete yet. BUT, ONE DAY I WOULD!! OHHH, WOULD I!!

I didn't really notice the mental issues right away, but sometimes it was all I could do to concentrate on the very next thing that was happening. Otherwise, I felt as though I would have a full-on panic attack.

The color red really began to agitate me too. So, there went at least 20 tubes of lipstick, and all that rouge right in the garbage. In fact, I just told my Avon lady, Madge, to take me off her list. We haven't spoken since. She took it SO personally. Just between you and me, she was kind of a bish.

And I couldn't drive in traffic with the radio on. It was just too much stimuli for me.

Vascular doctors put me through some ultra-sounds of my legs. I previously had to have a large varicose vein from my leg (my fellow shipmates had nicknamed it "Lucifer") surgically removed after internally blowing it up while playing football in the Coast Guard. So, not having the best circulatory system in the world, they thought it might be that.

It wasn't.

So, they actually said, "You're getting older," (remember...I was 29) "you need to stretch more."

I needed to "stretch" more.

That's some funny shit, no?

Well, I went home. The next week that went by was unbelievable.

The muscle cramps and tremors had moved up from my legs into my chest and arms. I would watch as my chest and biceps would begin rippling of their own accord. And then the agony would seize me and they'd cramp. And I would literally be paralyzed with cramps.

If I was on my feet too long, my legs began to swell like I was 90 years old.

I called the doctor back after that week and pleaded, "I go to wash my foot in the shower and my hip cramps. I go to put my foot in a sock and my toes cramp out. I'M 29. THIS IS NOT ME NOT STRETCHING ENOUGH. I'M NOT A HYPOCHONDRIAC, BUT I FEEL LIKE I'M DYING!!"

And I was.

The deceiving part was that I didn't look like I was dying. I wasn't even jaundice. My eyes were clear and I appeared to be in good health. Except, I was in liver failure.

They drew blood and when the results came back, they almost didn't let me go home.

I was in severe liver failure. My liver wasn't producing enough Albumin, which is essential for proper muscle contraction. My blood had thinned to the point that a biopsy of my liver through the abdominal wall was out of the question. I could bleed to death.

So, they had to go through my neck, my Jugular vein, then down through my heart and into my liver.

And guess what?

I was awake.

And I could feel them go into my heart. I actually asked, "Are you guys in my heart right now?"

And they answered, "Yes."

And I replied, "Great...just checking. May I please have some more anesthesia?"

And they poured more Cuervo into the I.V. bag, threw a dash of salt in my eyes and stuck a lime in my mouth.

I thought that was sweet, no? They didn't really have to do that.

Well, my symptoms were becoming worse by the day. And there was no diagnosis yet. The doctor mentioned a rare condition that it might be and called it "Wilson's Disease", but he couldn't be sure. And most people my age would already be dead from it or completely insane.

Well, he had one part right.